


Hands Tied

by tea_petty



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Light Bondage, Sloppy Seconds, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-18 21:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22466797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: Sole doesn't know where she stands with Pickman.
Relationships: Pickman/Female Sole Survivor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	Hands Tied

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

They’d been traveling together now for some time. When Sole thought hard about it, she could feel the gravity of those seven months and count the spaces in between them to really see how tall they stacked up. Usually though, she wasn’t thinking that hard about it. Really, she was lucky if she could think at all when in the same room as her traveling companion, lest she let her fever consume her.

His prominent brow and fine boned face; if ever she watched him work it was to watch him. The way he held himself when chasing his muse, the easy slant of his shoulders and the careful intricacies of his fingers. He always removed his jacket before engaging in his art, where Sole could steal glimpses of the heat of him through his thin, white shirt. He usually cuffed the sleeves of his shirt up to about his forearms, and Sole would wonder about the muscle below – a bit more than she’d expect from an artist. When her mind idled, she could see herself tracing the bluish veins beneath, first with the pads of her fingers, and then with her lips and tongue.

Sometimes, when he looked at her, she’d swear she could make out something similar swimming in the depths of his eyes. A quiet appreciation, a veiled attraction – and then the ice in his gaze turned to ice water in her blood stream, as there was no one she knew of whom Pickman _appreciated_ , that was still alive.

If she felt his stare at her back when they walked together, she’d wonder if his eyes were marking incision points – here a flank, there a chuck. She’d warm none the less and wonder if he could notice that too.

If he had any sexual preferences, he gave no indication where Sole was concerned. When they took shelter at local watering holes, he’d sip his drinks quietly from beside her at the bar. When he was propositioned, he was polite, but unwavering in his rejections. When she was propositioned, he was silent. 

He got to traveling with her out of gratitude, when she’d helped him out from between a raider and a hard place. Now, he promised her safety under his care. She remembered feeling a little disappointed at this.

It was safer to avoid him, to keep their conversations demure, and pretend not to notice each other’s wandering gazes. But still, behind the way he mapped her out, she had to wonder – where had he been before? Whose bed had he spent the night in, and what had crossed his mind in the bald honesty of starlight as he watched his lover sleep? What were his lovers like? Where were they now?

As soon as Sole fell into this rabbit hole, she was sucked in deep. Did he like to taste his lovers? What did he look like when he came? 

Sole had fallen into this particular rabbit hole, had memorized how it blurred on the way down, flourished in the dizzying eddy of a spiral, as Pickman sat directly to her left. They didn’t need to fill their silences, and this gave them plenty of time to steal looks at one another when they thought the other couldn’t notice.

Sole was exploring this rabbit hole again on autopilot. Magnolia was singing in the background – the perfect score to Sole’s fantasies of Pickman railing her, and then specifically _not_ killing her.

That was when he showed up; no one Sole knew, and no one particularly important. He was cute though, and the way he sauntered up to Sole, with the pretenses of a drink flared the arousal she’d accumulated daydreaming of the man beside her.

“Can I-?”

Sole felt Pickman’s gaze like daggers in her back, and then without thinking, she grinned.

“Hi.”

“Oh, hey, I’m-“

“Follow me,”

The man had just enough time to set both drinks down at the bar before Sole was towing him towards the exit.

There it was again – he was watching her; she didn’t have to look back to know. And they’d already checked in to their rooms at the Rexford. Perfect. 

“Where are we going?” The man asked, though by the way he was grinning too now, it seemed he already had an idea.

“I have a room at the Rexford. That okay?”

He let out a whistle.

“Better than okay. If I had known, I would’ve saved my caps on that drink.”

Yuck. But whatever, he’d do. Sole felt herself dampen in her panties at the thought of a good fuck. The first good fuck in who knows how long.

“Seems like you’re already getting a pretty good deal to me.”

“Yeah.”

-

Alright, so _good_ fuck might’ve been an exaggeration. It was…well, they fucked.

Thankfully, the troglodyte fell asleep as soon as he’d slumped off of her, meanwhile, Sole was slipping back to her room in a thin robe (his she presumed, but she’d consider it the ‘easy lay’ tax on bad sex), her clothes and shoes under one arm, as the other one made sure the post-coital cigarette remained stilted at her lips.

She reached hers and Pickman’s hall, where he was waiting outside their rooms. When he noticed her coming his way, he pushed off the wall and put out his cigarette.

He crossed his arms and surveyed her, though where she’d come from was clear enough.

“Where’s your friend?”

“Asleep. Wouldn’t call him a friend – friends at least make sure you finish.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You didn’t finish?”

They didn’t talk about this sort of thing. Normally, just the thought of Pickman referring to her orgasm would be enough to send Sole back down the rabbit hole, and behind a locked door with some scented candles burning. Now though, Sole was already half naked, and still wet – though her arousal had dimmed considerably. She reeked of sex. She wondered if this turned Pickman off.

Quite the contrary, he drew closer, pressing more into conversation than he usually bothered. When he was standing right in front of her, his gaze flitted down, studying her face, and glimpsing down the loosened neck of her robe.

“Sounds like a pretty crappy night.”

Sole puffed on her cigarette and willed her robe to loosen further.

“Yeah, you don’t need to tell me.”

Pickman was quiet for a few more moments. Then, he was going to the door, a plaque with the number _955_ embossed on it, as it hung crooked from one loose screw. He unlocked the door and held it open, gesturing for Sole to step in.

“Want me to make it a better night?”

His voice was as casual as if he were asking about the weather. 

Wordlessly, Sole took one last drag of her cigarette as she passed him and entered the room. She handed the cigarette to him, and he took a deep breath of it in, before letting out a steady stream of smoke and putting it out on the sole of his boot.

Sole dropped her clothing in a pile at the foot of the bed, and when she turned around, Pickman was already pulling her into a rough kiss. Sole gasped, surprised, as one hand fixed itself into her hair, tangling into an iron hold. He gave it a rough yank, and when she yelped, he used the opportunity to land a sharp nip at her bottom lip.

The other hand was already pulling the front of her skimpy robe open and palming a breast roughly, thumb stroking over a nipple.

“Y-You don’t waste time,” Sole said breathily, grateful that the lights were off in the room. 

Hopefully he couldn’t see her blush.

“We’ve wasted enough already, haven’t we?”

The hand that was at her breast trailed down, tickling lightly across her tummy, before traversing her hipbone and landing at the apex between her thighs. His fingers carded through the tuft of curls, before his middle finger traced the seam of her cunt.

“You’re so wet.”

Sole whimpered as he eased the same finger between her folds, and circled lightly, invoking more of a seeping wetness – her wetness, rather than the man from the bar’s.

Sole didn’t know what she expected – for him to get angry? Jealous? They weren’t together or anything, but still, Sole felt like she’d betrayed him, and the guilt gnawed at her. Her hands, which had found places at his shoulders, clutched him closer, as if afraid the traces of another man on her would send him away.

Instead though, he said; “I don’t want you to sleep with anyone else from now on.”

When Sole peaked an eye open, he was watching her – not angry, not spiteful, just seeing her, committing her to memory as she drooped against him, bare save for the fabric that gathered at the crook of her elbows. 

“Okay.”

“Good.”

Then Sole was stumbling backwards to the bed, Pickman guiding her with the force of his kiss and a hand. The other one was reaching into his back pocket for something – a condom? This disappointed Sole. She’d fantasized about this man a million times, and in each one, he’d spilled himself in her.

Sole pushed the thought away. This man was kissing her, touching her, and based off the hardness she felt pressing at her thigh – _wanting_ her. She pinched her eyes shut, and threw her arms around him, kissing him with renewed fervor. 

She felt Pickman’s tickling touch as one hand trailed up her forearm and caught a hand. Sole felt herself smile on the inside. She could feel him want her in how he touched her. His other hand trailed up her other arm similarly, and then he had both her hands and was unlooping them from his neck. Without breaking the kiss, he eased Sole onto the bed, her hands now above her head.

Sole gasped as she felt herself bounce against the bed, and Pickman’s weight on top of her.

“Oh!”

At the sound of her voice, Pickman jerked his hips against hers, “Temptress.” 

His eyes glittered faintly in the dark, and yet it was _he_ who accused _her_ of preying on him.

Sole felt the cold of the bed’s frame by her wrists and heard an unfeeling click. Her eyes snapped open.

Pickman was reaching above her with both hands, and when she tried to move, she was stopped by the very bed she lay on.

Pickman pressed another kiss to her mouth, softer, this time.

“It’s nothing personal,” he murmured, “but you see now, I don’t like sharing, and you have another man all over you. My ego is a little bruised.”

Sole expected the rush of fear to run her arousal into ice water. Instead, she felt it strengthen, and she felt herself clench in response, growing wetter. She writhed in place, aware of Pickman as he studied her bare form.

“What can I do? To prove to you that it’s you I wanted all this time?”

Pickman kissed her again, his nose skimming against Sole’s. His hot breath at her lips was enough to make her wrench against her bindings again.

“Beg.”

His hand trailed, from hairline to jaw, where he gripped her. His hand continued downwards, smoothing along the column of her throat, feeling the soft vulnerabilities of her. He dragged a crooked finger downwards, over her collarbone, and down between her breasts. 

“Beg for me,” he whispered, and the sound of his voice alone was almost enough to make her come.

Both hands came to grip her breasts then, cupping them, and feeling the weighty softness of them. His thumbs teased at her nipples and Sole moaned.

“Beg me,” he murmured against her before he placed an open-mouthed kiss at her nipple.

“Ah, please –“

Her mind short-circuited as she felt him suckle at the sensitive peak of a breast.

“Please what?”

“I…” Sole caught a glimpse of him watching her, and she flushed. “I _need_ you.”

Pickman nuzzled a breast.

“You have me,”

Sole felt a rush of warmth in her chest at this, but that didn’t sate the wanting ache at her sex.

“I need…” she panted, chest heaving.

“What do you need?”

She rolled her hips, automatically, and then Pickman’s large hands came down to catch her thighs. He slotted himself between them but stayed far enough away that Sole couldn’t rut against him. 

“You…”

“Where?”

His fingers had crept up now, between her legs, parting the curls there, teasing at the outer edges of her folds, but never fully delving into her wetness.

“ _I-Inside_.”

Pickman crooked his finger again and dragged his knuckle along the length of her slit. Sole gasped and tried to buck further into his touch.

“Are you sure? I won’t be gentle.”

One hand went back to one of her thighs, squeezing the plush flesh in an iron grip like he wanted to bruise her. Sole’s body responded to this, and she strained against the cuffs again, her spine arching. Oh, God please, don’t be gentle.

“Please,” Sole moaned.

Then there was the clanking sound of a belt buckle, and when Sole hazarded a look at her lover, she saw him freeing himself from his trousers. In one fluid motion, his pants and underwear were down, over his hips, and his cock was springing free. 

“I’ll take you,” he said in that silken voice of his, “I’ll take you how I want, because you’re _mine_.”

Sole’s skin was on fire, and she thought she might combust. She arched as far into him as she could, and then sure enough, as he’d promised, he was pressing the engorged head of his cock along her entrance. Already, Sole could feel the faint stinging – he hadn’t prepared her for his girth. 

In the next moment, Sole was tensed up as he tried to enter her. With his length pressing into her, his hands anchored themselves at her hipbones.

“Relax,” he soothed.

When Sole pinched her eyes shut, hot tears welled at the corners.

He eased himself in, and the first few inches burned more intensely. Sole whimpered. 

“Relax,” he said again, and his thumb caressed across the ridge of her hipbone. “I told you I wouldn’t be gentle.”

“Ah-“ Sole whined. 

His warning did little to ebb the pain, the wetness at her eyes streaked down her cheek.

He didn’t stop. Against Sole’s clenching, tightened muscles, he continued to press himself into her.

Sole’s legs drew up, and Pickman’s grip shifted from her hips to her thighs. She felt like she was splitting, the stretching around him unrelenting. The only mercy here was how wet Sole had already been. When Pickman finally paused, it was when he was fully hilted in her, and it was only for a second. 

He clambered up her body, the drag of his clothing against her skin, coated in a clammy, pained sweat also trailing a strange, rasped pleasure down to where she ached with him inside her. Sole breathing roughened. She was feeling more wetness, more of that throbbing ache, and a little, just a little, pleasure.

Pickman kissed upwards, kissing upwards over her belly, at her breasts, skimming his mouth across the sensitive skin of her neck, when finally, he reached her mouth. This time, when he kissed her, it was a bit softer, and Sole knew it was this way because there would be no softness anywhere else. He kissed at her cheeks, where her tears had since dried.

“You feel _sublime_.”

Then he dragged his length out of her, almost to the tip. Sole felt the stretching drag of him against her walls, and this time, it hurt a bit less than when he’d entered her. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she tried to take a deep breath. Relax. He was right, it would hurt less if she relaxed.

When he thrust into her again, his hips snapping into her, he grunted. The sound and the glide of him inside her sent a bright shot of pleasure through her. Sole stiffened now, but for a different reason, her back arching as much as it could to press herself closer to him, to take him deeper.

Gradually, his thrusts grew faster, and more consistent in pace. Sometimes he’d pull back to watch Sole’s own face, but mostly, he kept it buried in the crook of her neck. The sound of their coupling grew louder, the wet, lewdness of the sound making Sole blush and avoid his gaze, even if he was already privy to all parts of her, already as deep inside of her as anyone could be.

Now as Pickman’s rough thrusts jostled her, Sole moaned, feeling herself clench around him. She writhed as best she could with the range of motion she’d been granted. The cuffs bit into the skin at her wrist, but it somehow only intensified the sensation of Pickman inside her. Each thrust seemed to dissolve into a pleasant warmth that settled at the pit of her belly. 

She squeezed around Pickman again, and he let out a strangled sound, his grip on her tightening to just shy of painful. Sole wondered if he’d left bruises on her and was ashamed to acknowledge that she hoped he had.

“Fuck – I can’t…I’m going to-“

Pickman’s brow furrowed deeply, and the pace of his thrusts stumbled. He thrust twice, one after another, rapid fire and groaned. Sole felt him twitch inside of her. He was close.

Pickman was frowning though, and this alarmed Sole.

“Why don’t… _ah_! –“ he pounded into her again, and another jolt of pleasure ripped through her, “- why do you look so serious when you’re…f-fucking me?”

“I’m going to come.” Pickman’s voice was terse, and when Sole searched his face closely, she could see the flush to his skin.

“So, then come for me.”

At this, Pickman’s eyes closed, and he made a pained expression.

“ _Fuck_!”

Pickman thrust deeply into her again, and this time, he remained hilted inside her, his face falling to where she couldn’t see, dropping into her neck. He twitched inside of her once more, and then a pleasant, spreading warmth was spilling into her – he, was spilling his seed into her.

Sole moaned.

His breath was hot and ragged at her skin, and with how his chest was pressed against hers, she could feel his heartbeat as it drummed inside him.

After a few moments, he looked up, the same serious furrow to his brow.

“You didn’t…?”

“Not yet.”

In the next instance, Pickman was pushing himself up, and slipping out of Sole. She felt herself squeeze at the absence of him. Her arousal was still rampant inside of her.

Pickman moved back down so that he was between her thighs. Sole watched him, feeling the slickness of his cum as it dribbled out onto her, and collected between her legs. She felt a rush of shyness at this and wanted to snap her thighs shut. She didn’t want him to see her so closely, so bare, so messy.

Pickman would not let her close her thighs to him; as soon as he felt the flex of her muscles, he wrenched them open wider, sending a vague sting along the inside of them.

“We’re not done here,” he practically growled.

Sole watched him, her body taut and alert, aware of every proximity of every part of him to her. His cock was still out, though softening and still beading with his release. His hands were gloriously on her, and his face was drawing nearer. He shifted so that he was laying on his stomach, and Sole’s flipped. She had never seen him in that position before.

His nose skimmed upwards along her inner thigh, and he kissed precariously closer to her gleaming, dribbling sex.

“Hey, what are you-“

Pickman’s eyes snapped to hers and held her gaze. He demanded she watch this, wanted this image seared into the insides of her eyelids, wanted the sensation committed to the memory of her flesh. Then his mouth descended onto her mound, and this kiss brought back echoes of their first one. His lips ravaged her, and his hand worked its way in to spread her, so that he could better fit his tongue in.

He was unwavering, both in how he watched her and how he lapped at her. The flat of his tongue pressed against the small, bundle of nerves, and then Sole was writhing again, trying to roll her hips against him. His other hand pinned her hips to the bed, and then he did this…thing with his tongue – a flick? A series of flicks? Oh, it was _wicked_.

She felt herself grow wetter, and still Pickman lapped it all up. The warmth that had scattered and settled inside of her had tightened once more, was coiling and squeezing inside of her, condensing with each stroke of his tongue. Then her thighs were quivering, and Pickman nuzzled deeper into her sex, his beard scratching at the sensitive skin at her thighs, and her folds.

“ _Oh!-“_

Sole’s orgasm came suddenly, the coiled heat inside of her scattering and yielding a rush of wetness that released into Pickman’s mouth. Still, his motions never stopped. Sole sagged against her bindings, chest heaving. When she felt the scratch of Pickman’s beard and the restlessness of his tongue still inside her, she recoiled. Now, it was too much.

She shook slightly as white-hot sensitivities seared her from the inside out.

“W-Wait, it’s too-“

Then Pickman finally pulled away, his lips gleaming with her. He brought his wrist hard against his mouth and wiped himself. He was still watching her, and through the haze of her post-orgasmic thrum, Sole wondered lazily at what was going through his mind.

Would he release her now? Did she stay the night? 

He didn’t look like he was going to move anytime soon, and Sole wasn’t in much of a hurry to leave. She was cold though – now that the exertion of their sex was gone, a shiver ran up her bare form. Pickman moved at this and shifted upwards to lay down next to her. One arm came around her, tight. His lips were at her neck. She could’ve twisted and tried to read the depths of his eyes again, but then she decided against it. She’d never been so well-versed in the language they spoke, and now, there were more interesting parts of him she wanted to read.

Instead, she let her eyes shut, and waited for him to make the next move, whatever that might be.


End file.
